Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” ~ John 14:6

Over the course of my life, I don’t think I’ve ever heard an interpretation of these words as anything other than a doctrinal argument made by Jesus about his exclusive identity – as some kind of answer key to a fill-in-the-blank question on a test yet to come. Yet while these words continue to inform my belief, when I experience them relationally rather than doctrinally, I sense hope rather than a premise for exclusion. I hear a friend revealing more about himself to another friend named Thomas, who perhaps was struggling, like me, against cynicism and doubt and fear on his journey. I hear a friend preparing another friend for both heartache and joy. And this friend continues to speak.

When I’m in doubt about the way in which I am traveling – about the deeper motivations of my heart, when I search for decent footing but the darkness and fog of chaos prevent me from seeing my hand in front of my face, when I’m beset by those who adhere to the cynical view that the end justifies the means… I hear Jesus say, “I am the way.”

When I myself am drawn by cynicism’s siren song, whispering to me that no one and no thing and no event can ever be known truly, that life is a mirage of eternally shifting perspectives fueled by mindless desire, when I can no longer see beauty in mystery and can only sense meaninglessness… I hear Jesus say, “I am the truth.”

When I awake to news of terror and destruction, when I think about those all over the world oppressed by self-seeking powers, when I remember my dad who passed away not so long ago… I hear Jesus say, “I am the life.”

So I no longer think of these words of Jesus as arguments. Rather, I view them as introduction and beaconing, and I say yes to these words… to the way, the truth, and the life. In other words, I say yes to the one who speaks them – who is them. And when my view towards home is darkened and dim, he provides sufficient light for the road ahead.

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you had known me, you would have known my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” ~ John 14:1-7

Forgiveness flounders because I exclude the enemy from the community of humans even as I exclude myself from the community of sinners. But no one can be in the presence of the God of the crucified Messiah for long without overcoming this double exclusion — without transposing the enemy from the sphere of the monstrous… into the sphere of shared humanity and herself from the sphere of proud innocence into the sphere of common sinfulness. When one knows [as the cross demonstrates] that the torturer will not eternally triumph over the victim, one is free to rediscover that person’s humanity and imitate God’s love for him. And when one knows [as the cross demonstrates] that God’s love is greater than all sin, one is free to see oneself in the light of God’s justice and so rediscover one’s own sinfulness. ~ Miroslav Volf

Yesterday morning Kim chose to stay home with our youngest two, in order to wipe the flow from their noses in the privacy of our home, so our eldest two and I headed off to worship with the feel of a “daddy daughter date.” By 10:15 we were seated in the nether-regions of our congregation (I let the girls pick our seats), and though I would have chosen to be more integrated and up close, the margins do have their advantages, especially for a parent with young children.

The time to stand and sing began on cue, which for us meant that I stood and my daughters chose to psuedo-stand by sitting on the top part of the upfolded theater seats. The independence, playfulness, and arguable defiance of this moment, reminded me of the myraid challenges of being a dad, but it’s not so much the decision about the appropriate posture for my children in worship that I want to remember. It’s what happened next that I don’t want to lose. In the midst of these swirling thoughts, my oldest daughter began to sing. Perched like sparrow in her makeshift nest, from a place within her that at times feels impossible for me to touch, the words rose strong and clear…

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now am found
Was blind but now I see

Yesterday around 4:00PM I was hit by the afternoon crash, so I decided to head down to the corner convenient store for a refill of my favorite caffeinated beverage. Standing in the check-out line, I experienced an interaction between two people that woke me up more than the petty chemicals in my 32oz. cup could ever hope.

At first, I assumed it was two friends having a somewhat spirited disagreement. I tried not to listen at first, but as the volume grew ever louder and more heated, it became clear that one guy was the store manager and the other guy was a customer… a very drunken customer who was being asked to leave the store. When he couldn’t talk any louder, the customer opened up his can of… expletive language, the only noticable effect being that it really pissed off angered the manager.

At this point I was expecting the punches to fly, but instead – at the top of his lungs – the drunken man yelled, “LOVE ME!!!” To which the store manager quickly replied, “LOVE YOURSELF, AND GET OUT OF MY STORE!!!” Then then manager told one of the three cashiers who were giggling behind the counter to call the police.

Staring at my feet, I was reminded of Jesus’ call for us to be peacemakers and to love our neighbors… the angry store manager, the giggling cashiers, and of course, the drunken customer. And I walked away from them all wondering about the terrible inconvenience of this command.

“There was a time when the church was very powerful-in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. . . . But the judgment of God is upon the church [today] as never before. If today’s church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the 20th century.” (M.L. King, Letter from Birmingham Jail)

It’s 7:00 AM as I sit to write this letter. I’ve taken a hot shower, shaved, and brewed a pot of coffee. It’s a normal morning with one exception: without the gift of water none of these things would be possible. To be honest, I don’t usually think about this kind of thing, and the water in my life doesn’t really feel like a gift. Clean water is my expectation, and without it at my ready disposal, I’m pretty sure I’d be a grumpy person. But as I speculate how I’d cope in different circumstances, I realize that normal mornings for folks in other places are very different than mine.

Last summer I took a team to Roatan, Honduras where we built bunk beds and ministered to children in a community called Sandy Bay. It is a poor community where a family of six typically shares a one-room home with a dirt floor, and children are suffering from preventable water-born diseases. With the help of a water expert who has intentionally transplanted from southern California to Sandy Bay, we hope to return a team to Honduras along with a new water purification system.